


Two in the Bush

by MemoryCrow



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Body Image, F/M, Oral Sex, Porn, Power Play, Size Kink, Snark, generalized kinkiness, sex between frenemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 15:51:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11717565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemoryCrow/pseuds/MemoryCrow
Summary: It's just dirty. I'm kind of ashamed. If you're looking for a bizarre pairing, a touch of kink, a healthy dose of smut and a bit of snark, you've come to the right place. OPT this is not. This is a weird booty call.





	Two in the Bush

Of those with whom Rumpelstiltskin had partnered, Cruella was the one he found least attractive. Although her self-made name tickled him to no end. _Cruella_. And let us not forget _De Vil_ …. That devil. Physically, not his type, one could say, but… Gods. The woman was so _dirty_. And direct, which one came to appreciate over the years.

He’d lived a long while, and his tastes had changed, here and there, becoming more fluid than he’d ever anticipated. They’d come to include the likes of Killian Jones… so, his horizons had been expanded, to say the least.

Embrace change, sayeth the wisdom speakers. In other words, roll with it. And, so he had.

Still, when it came to women, his tastes often hailed back to his first experiences; scents and sounds, tactile things he’d felt those many years ago had stayed with him, surfacing when he got out of his own head and looked at women as _women_ , sex and sexuality included; neutrality and general personhood suddenly of a lesser import.

He was old fashioned, it turned out. He liked a little extra flesh… some jiggle at breast and bum, curves to grasp and knead, handfuls of bosom to hold as his mouth suckled at responsive nipples. He liked the cushioned strength of such women, their push and pull as he drove into them. He had a fondness for titties and arse.

He’d found this sort of woman to be a trigger… not really the ultra-sleek, high-breasted women of popular media, but more of a wenchly sort, ogled in his youth. Women with a winnowed shape who were yet comfortable at the waist, soft at the belly. Women who looked like they might enjoy the occasional cheeseburger.

Cruella was not that woman, to be sure. Rumpelstiltskin was fairly certain she survived on whatever nutrients her body could leech from gin. The juniper berries that made it were frequent participants in his spells… perhaps their magical properties sustained her.

That, and there was the possibility she consumed little bits of human souls. Not the entire soul, as far as Rumpelstiltskin knew… but little sips; siphoned. He felt sure she’d siphoned some of his; paltry and ill-used thing that it was, right out of his cock. Perhaps she extracted a sort of payment for her attentions… she much preferred to be the one receiving such attention.

In her directness, she didn’t bother to camouflage her occasional distaste. “Must you _thrust_ , so?” she’d complained in the past, irritated when his hips were over-zealous and he’d gagged her.

“Sorry, dearie. I got caught up in the moment.”

“Practice some of your infamous control, would you.”

“Of course, love. Whatever you wish.”

He’d always been much more compliant when naked, a woman’s teeth very near his cock, her wickedly manicured hand in a firm grip at his balls. He knew when to behave.

In his youth, when his fancies for a healthy-looking woman were forming, bony things like Cruella were often dismissed in unkind ways. _A nipple on a rib_ , the spinsters used to say. _A bone and a hank of hair,_ he’d often heard.  Words for skinny women were often the same words used for old crones… in a time of poverty and hunger, the skinny silhouette was seen as a thing robbed of juice. A thing that withered on the vine, shriveled and unrecognizable. It offered no substance, no nurture… no _meat_. 

It was hard to keep track, something akin to immortality at play, but Cruella was a great deal younger than he, though certainly ancient by the measure of regular time. She’d come into her prime at a point where her world was leaving hunger behind. Whether or not wise, they – and she – were ready for a party. Women had begun to dress very differently, and the new vogue set the pace for years and years to come… skinny, slinky women. Frames that were made for designers to drape their designs upon; no need for bras or any other foundation garment.

As such, there was a confidence at work within Cruella, a body confidence that was often missing in women Rumpelstiltskin found to be more to his taste. Though she was, indeed, a nipple on a rib, a long, long bone with a mad-shock hank of hair, she had no problem going about in various states of undress. She liked it, in fact; exhibitionism, being _seen_. She liked to titillate and tease, to tread a line that bordered on humiliation, but did not cross into that shameful realm. She kept herself above humiliation, if not beyond reproach.

It began in her girlhood, naked beneath her flimsy, slip-like dresses. It continued into whatever strange facet of life she’d entered.

Generally, she was in charge. She called the shots, not just a little thrilled to boss the Dark One around. In a certain mode of desire, Rumpelstiltskin was pleased enough to let her.

He sat across from her in his home, and thought of the last time she’d come calling _. Hello, darling. I’m completely knackered…. The ridiculous people in this play-town of yours. Toy trains and Easy Bake Ovens, fuck’s sake. Be a doll, won’t you, and fix me a drink. Then come finger my pussy and lick my clit._

Directness. Not trifling. Rumpelstiltskin felt himself flush. In the wrong frame of mind, it could piss him off…. Cruella’s bluntness. Standing taller than he, bigger boned and in her frightful over-application of make-up, she might make him inwardly recoil. He might consider giving her a very chilly exterior; one that suggested he would not deign to _finger_ anything about her person.

He _had_ done, in fact. He’d turned his nose up at her. But she usually got her way, sooner or later.

She flung her long leg over the arm of the chair in which she sat, and her dress followed her leg. A sequined, overdone for daylight hours, flapper-like affair that was slit to her upper thigh… a fold of fabric just barely covered the illicit territory between her legs. Rumpelstiltskin, both from experience and from the bare stretch of inner thigh, leading to a suggestion of bum, knew that she was naked beneath the dress.

Honestly, her clothes. It was as though she shopped at Drag Queens R Us, catering to the crowd that was all about the raw vulnerability, pretending itself to glamor, that was the torch song. Whereas, if costumes were the going thing, he would much prefer a woman to go burlesque. A naughty twirling of tassels and a tease of arse-crack… a bent over pose that played up the heart shape of a curvy bum, lush and full and inviting…

… He was getting himself worked up. Between the physical reality of what Cruella was there to offer, almost exposing it as she nursed her drink, and the busty, jiggle-shimmy-thing that was happening in his head, Rumpelstiltskin was rapidly losing all sense of calm. His cock was hard and his mouth watered. 

This was why Cruella usually got what she wanted, even if he was sometimes affronted by her presentation, by her assumption… which, to be fair, was correct. Her assumption about what he was willing to finger, to taste… well. She was right on the nose.

He perched on a tapestry-covered footstool across from her, nursing his own drink. Bourbon to her gin. They somewhat played at civility, the rules of social engagement. Cruella had already stretched those rules with her draped leg, her spread-eagled posture which she casually did not acknowledge. Rumpelstiltskin decided to break the rule, altogether. With his cane, he lifted the hem of her dress and lay it over her propped thigh.

She was a nipple on a rib, but her pussy was amazingly plump. A puffy thing, bigger at vulva than at labia, and – a surprise – it was completely bare. Interesting. Rumpelstiltskin gave it a little stroke with his cane, and Cruella spread her legs even wider apart, scooting her narrow bum to the edge of the seat. It opened her a bit, and Rumpelstiltskin saw she was already shiny-wet.

“It’s a Brazilian wax, darling.”

“Very trendy of you, dearie.”

“Do you like it?”

… the _cheek_ … She reached down to grasp the cane, and slid it’s end snugly inside. Rumpelstiltskin’s throat went dry. He made a slow, shallow thrust with the cane, watching intently as it moved in and out… as the ebony varnish of the wood became glistening and creamy.

“It’s quite fetching.” He said. “Although I’m really a more old-fashioned sort.”

“Ah.” She smiled, red-lipped and impossibly lascivious; fingers tipped in red paint began a shameless play at her clit. “Prefer a little bush, do you, Rumpelstiltskin.”

Indeed, he did. The initial mystery it imparted, followed by a blind, raging sort of horniness to see the reddened flesh, the wet slit, pubic hair silky and matted, holding onto the scent of sex.

This, however, was not displeasing. For one, Cruella’s clitoris was in plain sight, a swollen nub peeping from her voluptuous vulva. It jumped a bit when he moved the cane; it yearned to her fingers, and its neediness was rather attention getting.

“I think I can make do with this.” He said.

Still smiling, Cruella said, “How gallant. I’ve been informed that this naked state of affairs makes for much better… licking. If you take my meaning.”

“Well, you’re not subtle, dearie.”

“Then you should have no difficulty understanding me.”

Pulling the cane away and laying it aide, Rumpelstiltskin stood.

“Freshen my drink. Would you, darling?” Cruella asked.

Standing, Rumpelstiltskin’s trousers were obviously tented. Cruella’s insinuating eyes roved over the bulge as she handed him her glass, and he moved to the liquor cabinet with a minor twinge of irritation. 

However, she made it worth his while. She played with herself, watching him, and she mused, “I always did love your cock, darling. It’s one of my favorites. That big, flared head… it feels so good going in, nudging against my little clit.”

“Indeed, dearie?” his cock throbbed. Even his tongue felt swollen and hot. What she lacked in physical attraction, she more than made up for in dirty talk. And, once truly in the game, he found he liked her tendency to direct.

He returned with her drink, and she accepted it, giving his cock a warm fondle through his trousers. With her fingertips, she felt her way to the mushroomed ridge of the head, meeting his eyes with a big smile.

“There it is.” She declared.

“Mm. Perhaps you’d like to take it out and give it a kiss.”

“Oh, we’ll see, darling.” she snaked her hand around to squeeze an arse-cheek. “For the moment, I’d like to watch you suck my clit while I enjoy my drink.”

“Greedy bitch.” Rumpelstiltskin said, but amiably. He knew she liked to come a few times before his own need was ever addressed. And, in truth, once he came, his interest tended to wane a bit.

“You know me so well.” Cruella purred.

Rumpelstiltskin pulled the tapestry-footstool close and settled between the pale expanse of Cruella’s legs. He looked up at her, as always, a little disturbed by her overdone and – yes – cruel facade. She lifted her fingers from her pussy and traced them over his lips. Opening his mouth, he let her plunder, transgress. She loved to do that… to invade his mouth with her fingers, and watch him fellate her. She loved to invade, generally… she’d teased and played with his hole, much as he’d done to Killian. He shivered to think on it… the way she could render him nearly voiceless, open and vulnerable to her as she thrust saliva-slick fingers inside him.

Gods. The things they knew about one another.

He watched her sip her drink, her eyes holding his over the rim of the glass as he bobbed on her fingers. His mind was a red haze of need, quickly arriving at a point of being her lap dog. He would do whatever she wanted. He wondered, for a moment, if she would like to see him with Killian… to see the things they did. He wondered if Killian would like it. His eyes fluttered closed as a wave of pleasure seized his insides, releasing in a slow, agonizing way… muscles not quick to come out of the unexpected contraction. He moaned, tongue pressed to the pads of Cruella’s sex-scented fingers.

“Bloody hell, darling. You make my pussy _gush_. Be a good boy and lick it for me.”

With another moan, Rumpelstiltskin bent to obey. Killian was in his head now… perhaps a nonsensical thing as he worshiped at the pentacle of _woman_. But he couldn’t stop thinking of the pirate, imagining Killian watching… watching as he made a long lick, both tongue and pussy swollen and wet. He teased Cruella’s opening with the tip of his tongue, then flattened it to lave, all the way up…. Whispering over her vulva, her slit, a wet suckle at her clit. Her legs trembled, her breath a hitching series of stop-starts.

He imagined Killian _right there_ , on his knees beside the chair, his face close as he watched. He imagined breaking contact with Cruella, looking to Killian with his lips, his face shining with wetness. He imagined Killian leaning close to kiss him, a wet, sensitive meeting of tongues… and then _he_ would watch as Killian licked Cruella.

 _Fuck_. Fuck, fuck. His hips rocked with his imagination, with the feel and taste of pussy, with the imagined visual of Cruella’s hand gripped to Killian’s dark hair, guiding him… even as she did so with him. Her hand fisted in his hair, and – none too delicate – she rocked and thrust her hips. Knowing what she wanted, Rumpelstiltskin extended his tongue, making it as long and serpent-like as he could. He fucked her with it… or rather, she fucked his tongue, making an immodest grunt. He felt, again, as if his tongue swelled, responsive to her taste and heat. Her fingers were a blur, strumming wildly at her clit, and then her voice – rather shockingly hollow and deep – called out.

Rumpelstiltskin replaced his tongue with two long fingers, fucking hard. He would tell her what he imagined about Killian, he decided. She would love it. It was just her thing; two men licking her pussy, two men, kneeling before her. One of them pretty, one of them the Dark One.

Her hips pushed up, muscles frozen as her orgasm took control. Fighting the hard squeeze that tried to push his fingers free, Rumpelstiltskin pumped and pumped, at last pressing his lips to the pulsing, siren-call of her clit. A wet kiss, a soft suck. Cruella’s voice rang out again… guttural and harsh. She disguised nothing, this woman. She was direct in her wishes and she didn’t try and pretty-up her release. Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t keep his fingers from being pushed out… he kept up his suckle, but his fingers were squeezed out, and her pussy – as she’d said – _gushed_. A fountain of soft liquid, a lighter, cleaner scent than arousal, came flooding from her body. Her eyes closed, and she pushed him away with enough force to send him sprawling on his arse. Rumpelstiltskin watched, in a bit of awe, as her body convulsed.. her muscles shook, her knees pressed close together and both of her hands pressed between her legs.

When she calmed a bit, he sat up straight, cross-legged on the floor. He encircled her ankle with a warm hand, looking at her scarlet, stiletto heeled shoes… more drag, really; and yet sexy, in her dirty way. She sat up and pulled off the sheath of her dress, and beneath it she wore a silky whisper of a red camisole. That was all. Its lacy hem came to just above her navel, and it – too – struck a dirty note with Rumpelstiltskin.

“Better, dearie?”

“Mm. You’re very good, darling. You have excellent attention to detail. And you take instruction well.”

He smirked at her. He slid his hand up her calf, then used both hands to part her knees. She allowed it, and made a soft mewl as he kissed; soothing little kisses; against her vulva. She was even puffier, more swollen. The little clit, however, was in retreat. He would have to tease it out, again.

“You’re a picture of pornography, dearie.” He pet against her slit with light fingertips.

“Like the red, do you.”

“Mm.”

“You, darling, are a picture of a kinky, lecherous old man.”

“Ah. You wound me. Perhaps you’d like me to stop.”

Cruella took a sip of her drink, letting the gin linger a bit in her mouth before swallowing. Imperious, she said, “I think not.”

“You’ve made a mess of my carpet. The upholstery. I should take my belt to you.”

Her smile grew dreamy, spreading over her face. She was pleasingly flushed, and Rumpelstiltskin could very nearly see her prettiness, beneath a horrorshow of make-up and incessant drinking.

“Try it, Rumpel.” She said. “Let’s see who ends up over the knee, little man.”

He smiled up at her, thinking, _hmmm._ She’d never done such a thing to him. The idea of it… bottoms-up over the lap of this frightful woman, so much taller than he, had a very bizarre appeal.

She brought her hand back to his hair, and toyed with it as he toyed with her, the backs of his fingers a soft brush against her swollen, hot flesh. Sometimes her pussy jumped… difficult to say if her clitoris prompted the little spasm, or her inner walls… but it sent a jolt through Rumpelstiltskin. His cock jumped in turn, aching to be freed and to nestle up in wet warmth.  The scent of sex was strong; the feeling of how tight Cruella’s squeeze had been on his fingers was anxiously ghosting about in his skull.

He knew, when she was ready, she’d want it from behind. She always wanted it from behind, pussy and arsehole on full, exhibitionist display. Presented. Everything in her posture, her bits of remaining clothing, her red heels… it was all setting his teeth on rude, vulgar, cock-pumping edge.

He kissed her again, giving a teasing, little flick of his tongue at the dimpled place where her clit lived. _Come out, kitten_.

With a sigh, another sip of her drink, Cruella said, “Tell me, darling. What were you thinking of during that first go-round?” This, too, was another of her games, her kinks. The replay… spoken details of what was experienced, felt. Thoughts that fluttered in and wreaked havoc.

Swallowing down the evil of his smile, he raised his eyes to hers. She quirked a curious brow, its line a hard slash on her pale face.

“I was thinking of Killian Jones.”

Her face fell rather flat, the motion of her fingers in his hair stilling. “You’re  _kidding_ , Rumpel. During  _that_? Really?”

“Oh… but you would have liked it, dearie.”

“Would I?”

“Indeed. It was a very naughty thought… he and I were taking turns licking you. Watching you and watching one another. Tasting you on each other’s tongues. Very decadent and delicious, love.”

Her pussy made another jump, which Rumpelstiltskin, in the parlance of modern day gurus, took to be a powerful affirmation. He allowed the evil to slink back into his smile as he looked at her. Would Killian be game, he wondered? His mind was running rather wild with nasty possibilities. Although… it was entirely possible that Cruella would scare the devil right out of Killian. He momentarily entertained a notion of Killian over Cruella’s knee.

“Well.” Cruella said, a little breathless. She resumed petting him, fingers hypnotic in his hair. “I guess you really  _do_  prefer a little bush.”

Rumpelstiltskin burst into a snort of laughter, giving a sweet, genuine smile. “Aye, dearie.” He laughed. With a little pat to her overheated parts, he added, “Don’t worry. I’m a man of many tastes.”

Cruella smiled back, charmingly flushed. She said, “Get up, darling. Get undressed, and fetch me another drink so I can watch you move about.” As an afterthought, she said, “Leave the tie on.”

Standing, beginning to undress, Rumpelstiltskin said, “Whatever best pleases you, dearie.”

 


End file.
